Nothing Really Matters
by P. A. Foreman
Summary: After reading Unwind I had a question: what would I talk and think about if I were being unwound. This is the answer to my question. I discovered that death is beautiful. However, I want to live a beautiful life first.


**It's time: **

"Are you Paige Foreman?" a nurse asks my name even though she knows exactly who I am. However, questions need an answer so I tell her.

"Yes," I say succinctly. I look at her sunshine yellow scrubs and wish they were a medical green or maroon like blood. Why turn such a happy color into something so dark and foreboding? The nurse grabs my wrist and goosebumps spread up my arm as a reaction to her cold touch. That and maybe the fear of knowing that it's my time.

"It's time to go," she tells me firmly. I don't protest or ask for more time because I know it will be useless. I desperately want more time and I suppose that's all we ever want is more time. That's what people wanted even before the Heartland War. Instead I stand tall and glance back at my fellow "terribles." My mind screams at them to do something, anything, but they don't. Most just go on with their business and some look at me pitifully.

"Then let's go," I reply to the nurse. We twist through the brightly colored walls of Happy Jack Harvest Camp and she's still tugging on my wrist. "Let go," I command and she releases me.

**The Blood-Red Carpet:**

I am led to a blood-red carpet and I silently cheer for the one thing that actually matches with the unsung theme that hangs in the air of Happy Jack. _You __are __here __to __be __unwound,_a voice whispers in these halls. No amount of sunshine yellow and Hawaiian shirts can change that lingering message. The nurse is replaced with two guards, one on each side of me. The band plays from the roof and the music drifts down to the place of the red carpet. I call it the track of the damned and that's what I am. I am damned.

"Time to go kid," one guard says. They both grab on to a shoulder each and I hear the annoying pop of gum.

"Spit that gum out," I demand of him. "And let go of me."

"Why should I?" the man asks. I hate people like him.

"Hey," I say. "It's my funeral today and I'm running it. Got it?" Both men stare at me like I'm insane, but they do as I ask. The gum is spit out and they let go of my shoulders. I stand up straight and walk down that blood-red carpet like the good little unwind I am. I may be damned, but I'm going to march off to my death with dignity.

**3 Minutes: **

I'm on a table with a nurse sitting by my side and two surgeons in sunshine-yellow scrubs. My heart is racing and sweat beads on my forehead.

"You'll be alright," the nurse reassures me. I look at her and say nothing. I won't be alright. By the end of the operation, I'll no longer be whole and humans are meant to be whole. Otherwise what are we? Some kind of morbid puzzle that can't be put together again? It didn't work with Humphry Dumfee. Like a wise fictional man named Hamlet said: that is the question. Hamlet didn't know at the time and why can't the people who wrote the Bill of Life just admit they don't know? Nothing really matters though, I'm still being unwound and no one will come save me. I feel a prick in my arm.

"What was that?" I ask the nurse.

"The only pain you'll feel the entire time you're here," the nurse answers. I wait for the feeling of extreme fatigue. I've been in a surgery before and they told me to count backwards from ten. I made it to seven last time. _Ten__…__nine__…__eight__…__seven__…__six__…_I count, but nothing happens. I don't feel tired at all.

"Why am I not falling asleep?" I inquire.

"By law, we are required to keep you awake the entire time," the nurse informs me. I feel myself turn pale. Shivers go down my spine.

"My god. I have to watch myself be unwound? I hate this!"

"That's understandable, but you do not have to watch. I will be here if you want to talk." _Oh __yeah,_I think sarcastically in my head. _I__'__m __going __to __be __completely __comfortable __talking __to __the __enemy __while __I__'__m __being __sliced __like __a __turkey._

I surprise myself though. "Hmm…What shall we talk about first?"

**30 Minutes: **

"They are starting on your feet now," the nurse states after my blood is drained.

"It's a shame," I reply. "I've always liked my toes and feet. My toes and feet are very important to me you know."

"How so?" the nurse asks.

"I have a muscle disorder and the doctors said someday, I may not be able to walk. I was heartbroken when they said that so I made every single step count. I cherished the feel of grass on bare feet, the beautiful pain of running," I tell her. "Now my feet are being taken away from me. I'll never be able to cherish my feet anymore. I'll never see the day when I can't get out of bed in the morning." The nurse nods and looks at me with this curious look in her eyes. Facination? Pity maybe? It doesn't really matter though. Nothing really matters anymore. Not even my feet. Still, I continue to talk to the mousy-looking nurse.

**1 Hour: **

"You know, I really don't think any of you are bad people," I say when they get to my genital area. The nurse looks surprised. "Maybe you believe in unwinding, maybe you don't, but you all are just normal, hardworking people that are trying to get through life just like anybody else. I just hate what you do. I hate that your jobs involve ending lives that will never even get to become good, hardworking people like yourselves."

"Interesting," the nurse says and nods her head. The busy surgeons stop slicing me up for a second to consider what was said before going back to their jobs.

"Guess what got me unwound," I tell the nurse. "What do you think got Paige Foreman unwound?"

"You think differently compared to the rest of us?" she guesses.

"I suppose that could be part of the reason, but not exactly. My parents sent me because I was too stubborn for them."

"Really? I think that's horrible," the nurse sympathizes with me. Her voice is void of emotion or expression. Nothing really matters to her either.

"They called my stubbornness my inner donkey," I chuckle. "But they said I went too far with it. I insisted on believing that there is no god, but they insisted on believing there is a god. They said I refused to see reason, that I had no faith. So I was sent off because I am who I am. I am Paige Foreman and not the person this twisted world wants me to be."

"I see," the nurse says, looking at me curiously again. I think back to what I just said. It doesn't really matter who I am in this room though. Nothing really matters anymore when you're dying.

**1 Hour and 15 Minutes: **

"I've always thought that your heart had nothing to do with love," I say randomly. "I always thought that it was just a huge metaphor or maybe something bigger."

"That's an interesting thought," the nurse replies, looking pensive. "What do you mean by something 'bigger?'"

"The soul maybe? I have no idea. God doesn't really exist for me so my belief in the possibility of the soul is a little contradicting. All I know is that I love Eric and he's the only boy I've ever really loved." The nurse smirks.

"Who's Eric?"

"A childhood friend. However, we were never really close growing up. After growing apart we met again at an Academic Bowl tournament and I just slowly fell in love with him. He's amazing and his parents love him so he'll never be unwound."

"What's he like?"

I smile at the memory of Eric. "He's very outgoing and easy to talk with. He wants to meet every, single person so it's hard to get him alone, but once you do, you have the most amazing conversations. They're deep, thoughtful, and it's like no one else exists, but the two of us when I talk to him. However, he hates every single person in the world except for me, he says. As you can see, he's a very negative person, but I still love him for who he is. I just wish he loved me the same way. I doubt he even knows that I'm being unwound."

"That's so sad," the nurse expresses and this time I can detect something other than indifference in her voice. Something matters now.

"That's another thing I have against unwinding. It takes away my chance to love, the possibility of a future with him," I share. "Will you tell me when I have no heart?" I ask. "So I can see if I still love Eric Epstein even when I don't have a heart?"

"Of course," the nurse says, looking in my eyes. My eyes start to well up, but I don't let the tears flow. Don't taint my last thoughts of Eric with tears. He wouldn't like that at all. I realize that finally I have found something that matters. I smile at the realization and the nurse does too. She strokes my blonde hair and I drift back into my thoughts.

**1 Hour and 30 Minutes: **

"We have to stop talking now," the nurse says with a stern look and I nod. Delving back into my mind, I think about stories and poems I wrote. I always wanted to be a writer, but guess what? That doesn't matter anymore. Stories pop into my head and fade away for the next one, but one poem sticks around. It's a poem I wrote from the perspective of a sea turtle. The baby sea turtle crawls out of the sand and wants to swim to the stars, but she has to follow the moon to the sea with the other turtles.

_But __I __can__'__t __swim __back __to __those __stars, __and __I __know __a __big __hand __won__'__t __lift __me __to __the __sky._I recite in my head. _Maybe __someday __when __I__'__m __done __fighting __wars, __I__'__ll __leave __this __place __I __don__'__t __belong __and __say __goodbye._The turtle wanted to be different from the other turtles, but she decided to follow the moon like everybody else. Later she regrets that choice, but hopes that someday she can swim to the stars. I have the opposite problem. I swam to the stars. I decided not to follow the moon to the sea. I discovered that when you go past the atmosphere to space, the stars don't shine anymore and they're all far, far away.

It's better to follow the moon. However, it's a little late to go back now, isn't it? So again, nothing really matters anymore.

**1 Hour and 45 Minutes: **

"You don't have a heart anymore," the nurse informs me. I smile this sad smile as I watch the surgeons pull out my heart coated in the green oxygen-rich solution. They replaced my blood with it when my blood was drained. I picture Eric in my head. He has a head of curly, blonde hair, he's skinny as a stick, has a gentle smile, and he's looking at me like I'm the only person in the world he wants to be with at the moment. A sort of warmth spreads through me and I know that I still love him. I look at the nurse to smile at her and nod.

She smiles and nods back. So you can still love without a heart. Therefore, love is either in your mind or something bigger. I hope it's something bigger. Wouldn't it be nice to believe in something bigger than us? It doesn't really matter to me though because I know that nothing bigger will come and save me from being unwound. God's not a superhero who comes flying out of the sky with a miracle in his hand.

_Nothing __can __save __me __now, _I think. _Not __Eric, __not __my __fellow __terribles, __not __God, __and __certainly __not __myself._

**2 Hours: **

Later, I think about my family. Do I love them? _Yes, _I answer myself. There were good times and there were bad times, but I guess there weren't enough good times to save me from being unwound. I remember when we played with the dolphin in the Virgin Islands, I remember when I tricked a goose to come up to me and I grabbed it's neck, I look back fondly on the times we would go to San Diego to go visit my uncles and grandparents, and I remember holidays filled with love, presents, food, and laughter. We had it good. I wonder how they could just erase those memories completely from their minds to sign the order for me to be unwound.

_I __was __a __good __kid. __Just __not __good __enough._My brother's face appears in my mind. He swam to the ocean and look what it got him—a warm and secure place in my parents' hearts. I start to feel fury towards him, but I remember that it's not his fault. Or is it? Is it my fault? My parents' fault? Whoever's fault it is, it doesn't really matter anymore. What matters is the here and now. The time I have left and that's not a lot of time.

**2 Hours and 15 Minutes: **

Images are flashing through my mind. I think about things I haven't thought about for the longest time. I remember when my biological dad gave me a spanking when I didn't want to go to church. I was so angry, but when I got to church, I was so scared to be away from them. They were going to listen to the sermon and I was in Sunday School. They came to get me and I was alright as long as they were beside me. I can't hear anymore, I can't see anymore and I feel completely and utterly alone.

_Are __you __there __God? _I pray even though I've been agnostic for the longest time. _I __need __someone __to __tell __me __that __it__'__ll __be __okay. __Even __though __I __will __exist __in __pieces, __my __soul__—__if __I __even __have __a __soul__—__will __still __go __to __Heaven. __Please __tell __me __I__'__ll __be __alright._I feel a little better, but I still feel alone. Does it really matter if there's a God though? People say that unwinds don't go to Heaven because no one feels our lives are worth living. I suppose it doesn't really matter that I feel my life is worth living.

**2 Hours and 30 Minutes: **

I don't have much time left. Unwinding can't possibly be ethical. It took away my right to live, my right to love, and even the right to my body. I no longer have free will. Wait, yes I do have a small victory. I can still think the thoughts I want. No one can control my thoughts no matter how hard they try.

_Does __it __really __matter __though? _I think. _Does__…__It__…__Really__… _

I cease to exist as a whole.


End file.
